


You Are Every Kind Of Fantasy

by helens78



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Age Regression, BDSM, Consent Play, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Rape Fantasy, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:43:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earlier, Rodney licked his lips and looked at John from under his eyelashes and said, "Oh, we are so not giving up sex just because I'm jailbait."  Now they're proving it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Every Kind Of Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> Especially for [Cesare](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare) and [Telesilla](http://archiveofourown.org/users/telesilla). I love ageplay and consent play, and thoroughly enjoyed writing this. :)

Rodney is _fifteen_. Rodney is fifteen and John has him pinned to the wall, one hand holding Rodney's hand tight behind his back, and the sounds coming out of Rodney's throat are higher-pitched than John ever imagined.

"Hold still," John murmurs. "Hold still and it won't hurt as much."

"Won't hurt as _much_?" Rodney fires back. "Thank you _so_ much for your consideration, you--"

"Christ." John twists Rodney's arm, just a little, just enough to make Rodney whimper and stop talking. "You know I'm not going to stop, right? You know you can't stop me?"

John knows it. John's always had the advantage; he has skill, training, practice. Rodney has never been half as good at hand-to-hand as John is, and at fifteen he's got even less to work with.

When the process finally halted, when the age thing seemed to level out at fifteen, Rodney had looked at himself in the mirror, a little disgruntled, and said, "Do you know how long it's going to take me to gain that muscle back? Weight training is so unbearably tedious--"

And then he'd seen the way John was looking at him, and the words died out in his throat.

Just like they've died out now; Rodney nods as John holds him still, quiet at last. John's breathing hard already, but it's not from exertion.

Not _yet_ it's not.

He kicks Rodney's legs apart; Rodney doesn't fight him. It makes John think he can let go of Rodney's arm, and jackpot--once he does, Rodney puts both hands against the wall and braces himself, hips tilted back, legs apart. John strokes one hand down the inside of Rodney's thigh, and Rodney shudders.

"Please," Rodney whispers.

The word goes straight to John's cock; he wraps an arm around Rodney's waist and snugs up against him, lets Rodney feel how hard he is already. Rodney gasps out loud, almost giving up the game, but as John starts moving, starts thrusting up against his ass nice and slow, Rodney groans and tries to twist away.

John slams him face-first into the wall, flattening him there. "That's not nice," John whispers. "You're supposed to be nice to me, remember? Hold still when I put you somewhere."

"If I hold still," Rodney whispers, voice shaking, "you're just going to hurt me."

"And like I said before," John whispers back, "if you don't hold still, it'll hurt _more_. Is that what you want?"

Rodney doesn't answer. John slides his hands up and down Rodney's sides. Rodney's so thin John can feel his ribs; he has a momentary pang of regret, of missing the Rodney he's known all this time, but then he slips his hands under Rodney's t-shirt and pulls him away from the wall a couple inches; he just needs enough room that he can slide his fingers up Rodney's chest.

Because yes, _mmm_ , Rodney's nipples are as tight and hard as ever; John sets thumb and forefinger to one of them and gives it a nice sharp twist.

"Fuck--!"

"Going to," John promises, rubbing his cheek against the back of Rodney's neck. "Going to fuck you good and hard. You know that, right? You know what's coming?"

"Please," Rodney moans, voice shaking a little. "Please, no--don't, please, I didn't do anything to you, you don't have to--"

"Nope. I just want to," John whispers, and he chuckles softly. "I'm _going_ to. And there's nothing you can do about it. Scream if you want; nobody's going to hear you."

Of course nobody's going to hear them; Rodney himself oversaw the soundproofing in his quarters, back before all this, way back when he first told John he was ready to act this kind of fantasy out, that he wanted to make it as good and as real as possible. John had known it was coming for a while; Rodney's hints are more like anvils than like anything that could be described as subtle. Still, he got hard enough to get Rodney's attention, just from Rodney saying the phrases _soundproofed force field_ and _as loud as we want to get_ , and doing it the quiet way had gotten a hell of a lot tougher for the week it took to finish the installation.

This time Rodney isn't quiet, doesn't have to be quiet. This time, when John shoves his sweatpants down, Rodney yells out, "No, _no_ ," and John almost gasps, he's so turned on. He pulls Rodney's t-shirt up and over his head, uses it to tie Rodney's hands behind his back, and Rodney's so damn _young_ \--his skin is pale, unmarked, no bruises, no scars. He's the fifteen-year-old boy John wanted to fuck into walls when _he_ was fifteen; he's a fantasy come to life, and he belongs to John.

And right now John's proving that, because he sucks on two fingers and twists them into Rodney's ass, and--God, when the device reset Rodney's age, it must have reset his muscles, too, because John gets resistance he's never felt from Rodney before. Rodney whimpers again, high and thin, and John closes his eyes--at this rate he's going to end up shooting all over Rodney's ass, not even getting a chance to fuck him.

Not that that's a _bad_ mental image, he thinks. Still--not what Rodney signed up for.

Rodney's pushing back against John's fingers now, and if it hurts him at all to have John stretching him like this, John can't really tell. He's making all those sweet pained noises, but those are part and parcel for the fantasy, and he's shoving back to get more, not squirming away to take less. John slides his hand away and slips both thumbs into Rodney's crack, holding him open. Two weeks ago, he would've bitten the back of Rodney's neck and said " _Mine_ " and just shoved in, hard, while Rodney panted out _nononono_ against the wall, but now he's hesitating.

"Rodney..."

"What?" Rodney snaps. "You--you're already--you already--just get it over with already, Jesus, you'd think a guy who sets out to rape a kid young enough to be his son would know how this _works_ \--"

Oh, that's just perfect--the trembling bravado, the sarcasm layered over something that sounds an awful lot like fear, but the clear go-ahead signal--yes, _yes_ , that's it, that's what John needed. He gets his pants unbuttoned, gets his cock out, and he slicks the precome welling up at the head over his shaft--that'll be enough, that'll _have_ to be enough. He can't wait anymore.

He doesn't have to, either. This is his fucking show; he doesn't have to wait. He presses the blunt tip of his cock against Rodney's sweet-- _sweet_ , exactly, that's _exactly_ what it is, what it feels like, Rodney's sweet little tight young precious hole--and then he's shoving in, grunting with the effort, _sweating_ as he forces his cock in that first near-impossible inch.

"You bastard," Rodney pants, "you--fuck--you motherfucker, fuck you, fuck--ohhhhh, _fuck_..." He pushes back against John's cock, even though the motion makes him tighten up. John gasps, clutches at Rodney's hips. He moves forward again.

It's rougher than he's ever been with Rodney, and whether that's Rodney's new body (new... old... body, new--John can't think about it right now, _way_ too distracted), or the scenario, or whether maybe Rodney's _trying_ to make this difficult, trying to get it harder and deeper and rougher, it doesn't matter. Rodney's there under him, pale and thin, body shaking, whimpers breaking free of his throat one after another, and John just keeps shoving in and shoving in until finally, _finally_ , Rodney's got him all. Rodney's gasping for breath and squirming back and forth between John's cock and the wall, and he's got everything John can give him.

Except he doesn't, because John can give it to him again. John shifts, and moves, and then he really gets started--fucking into Rodney like he's been dreaming about since Rodney said, "I think it's stabilized," fucking him like he's wanted to since Rodney licked his lips and looked at him from under his eyelashes and said, "Oh, we are so not giving up sex just because I'm jailbait." He lets himself go mindless, lets himself get carried by lust and need and the tense tight feel of Rodney's fifteen-year-old body clenching at him, squeezing him so tightly he almost can't breathe.

" _John_ ," Rodney sobs, and John's just present enough to want to _know_ \--he reaches up and strokes a thumb over Rodney's cheek, and yes, Rodney's got a tear-track, he's either hurting enough to cry or he's so fucking turned on he's actually starting to be afraid of it--God knows John knows _that_ feeling, he's _living_ that feeling right now. His eyes are wet, too.

"Not going anywhere," John growls, and maybe it's in-character and he's threatening Rodney with it, or maybe it's from the heart and he's promising, swearing that he won't go anywhere, that he won't leave Rodney like this. Either way, Rodney shifts his shoulders and slips his wrists out of John's makeshift bondage; the t-shirt falls to the ground. Rodney shoves back, gets a hand between himself and the wall, and as John drives in as hard as his hips will let him, Rodney beats off, quick and brutal, and he comes first, spattering the wall with it, half-collapsing against John's chest, groaning over and over as John pushes into him again, and again, and just keeps going until he's right there with Rodney, coming hard enough to take his breath away.

Some time later, Rodney slips a little, and John catches him, tightens his hold on him. "You okay?" John whispers.

"I--yeah," Rodney whispers back, "yeah, I--bed. Now. Please."

John eases back and helps Rodney step out of his sweatpants, then guides him over to the bed. Rodney collapses into a heap, and the smile he throws John's way is smug and beautiful and _so goddamned young_.

"Next time," Rodney says, "maybe you can be one of my high school teachers. Or, or, no, you can be my coach, that way we can get me into the gym and it can count as foreplay."

"Have I ever told you you're completely fucking insane?" John asks, settling in next to Rodney, tugging Rodney's body against his. Rodney doesn't fit the way he used to; he's all sharp angles and gangly limbs. It takes them a minute to get it right; Rodney has to carefully stretch out, slide an arm and a leg over John. Even then, it's not what they're used to--it's just what works now that Rodney's fifteen.

"If you keep fucking me like that, you can call me anything you want," Rodney mumbles, already halfway to sleep. The idea makes John blink up at the ceiling, though, because he can think of a _lot_ of things to call Rodney. Especially now. God.

He'll talk to Rodney about it in the morning. For a split-second, he wonders if he should make a note somewhere, jot it down on his arm, or Rodney's arm-- _humiliation scene with name-calling_ \--but when he looks at Rodney's face, slack with exhaustion and younger than he's ever even pictured it--he just reaches up and ruffles Rodney's hair.

Yeah. One look at Rodney, and he'll remember.

He drifts off to sleep with Rodney scooting closer and closer, curled up all around him.

 _-end-_


End file.
